


Cherry Blossoms, 1992

by nowwhateinstein



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowwhateinstein/pseuds/nowwhateinstein
Summary: It’s remarkable how comfortable they’ve become with each other in the few weeks they’ve been partners.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Early Season 1. I plead willful ignorance to any time/continuity errors this story may contain.  
> Initially inspired by the prompt, "There's a leaf in your hair." Thanks to LilyDaleXF for the request!

“Where are you going?” 

Mulder asks the question as she’s putting on her coat. She looks over to where he sits at his desk. He’s still poring over the same collection of blurry photographs from earlier this morning. UFOs, he’d claimed as she entered the office, to which she’d rolled her eyes and promptly buried herself in her own work. Now, after three hours of hovering over a microscope, she’s itching to stretch her legs.

“I thought I’d take an early lunch and walk down to the Tidal Basin to see the cherry blossoms,” she replies. “They’re in full bloom, now.”

To her surprise, Mulder leaps up from his chair. “I think I’ll join you,” he says, grabbing his own jacket from the coat rack. He also reaches for the umbrella sitting next to the office door. 

“Weatherman says there’s a chance of rain.” He winks as says it, like he’s letting her in on some vast meteorological conspiracy (nevermind she heard the same forecast on the radio this morning), and she thinks - not for the first time since joining the X-Files - that Mulder could stand to get out of this musty basement office more often. This will be good practice, she thinks, as they climb the stairs to the exit.

It’s nearly a mile to the Tidal Basin, but they take their time. The sky is overcast, and it’s cooler than she anticipated, but at least it’s not yet raining. They fall into a companionable silence as they cross Pennsylvania Avenue - something that’s become a habit of sorts, she realizes. It’s remarkable how comfortable they’ve become with each other in the few weeks they’ve been partners. Despite their obvious differences of opinion, it seems to her that Mulder has come to respect - even appreciate - the perspective she brings to their investigations. And unlike some of the agents whom she’s worked with in the past, he’s not once questioned her ability to do her job on the basis of her gender. Perhaps it’s for these reasons that he’s the first male colleague with whom she doesn’t feel the need to prove anything, with whom she can be herself. Sure, Mulder drives her crazy with his stubborn insistence on proving the existence of paranormal phenomena, but she appreciates his genuineness; he’s not out to climb the Bureau ladder or earn professional accolades - the Tooms case made that abundantly clear. And while Mulder seems to embrace his position as the FBI’s “Most Unwanted” Agent and willingly accepts the ridicule of his peers, he is sensitive to how her association with him affects her reputation and standing in the Bureau - a fact she appreciates, but whose importance has diminished of late. 

Eventually, they reach the Tidal Basin. The threat of rain is enough to dissuade most of the tourists, so they have the path practically to themselves. The still water of the Basin reflects the blossoms of hundreds of cherry trees, giving the illusion of an endless pastel Rorschach test.  
They pause at a break in the trees and she glances over at Mulder. He’s absently cracking a sunflower seed between his teeth as he stares across the water towards the Jefferson Memorial. 

He’s probably thinking about those photos, she figures. She wouldn’t be surprised if she walked into the office the next morning to discover that he’d spent the night there.  
From the handful of cases they’ve worked together, it’s clear that Mulder is obsessed with the X-Files. She doesn’t use that term lightly. Just the other week, she’d found herself driving to New Jersey to bail him out of jail. The cops cited vagrancy; Mulder claimed he was on a stakeout - of the mythological Jersey Devil, of all things, as it made clandestine raids on the back alley Dumpsters of Atlantic City. She called the whole thing crazy. Despite that, she’d somehow found herself choosing to accompany him to the Smithsonian to follow up on the investigation instead of agreeing to a second date with Rob. 

I’ve changed, she muses, staring up at the blossoms. Something shifted when she moved into Mulder’s basement office. The X-Files, these unexplained cases deemed too strange for the Bureau mainstream, have reawakened something in her. Call it a love of intellectual challenge, the thrill of discovery, or just plain curiosity: whatever “it” is, it’s something she thought she’d lost when she made the decision to leave medicine and dedicate her life to the noble (yet admittedly more mundane) pursuit of public service as an FBI Agent. To rediscover this passion now is unexpected, but not unwelcome; it feels like a homecoming of sorts, a latter-day reminder that the world is as weird and mysterious - if not more so - as when she was a child. Mulder’s willingness to dive head-first into these mysteries acts as a catalyst; his theories are so crazy, so “out there,” that she feels duty-bound to prove him wrong. And yet, in her striving to lay out a scientific and rational explanation, she finds herself sharing in his desire and determination to uncover the truth of what they’re investigating. She recalls a certain passage from Moby Dick, in which Ishmael describes his affection for the misunderstood Queequeg: ‘And those same things that would have repelled most others, they were the very magnets that thus drew me.’ 

A gust of wind picks up, troubling the waters of the Basin before it reaches the two of them beneath the trees. The space around them suddenly becomes thick with pink and white petals, and for a moment, her eyes meet Mulder’s in mutual wonder. Then, as quickly as it arose, the wind subsides, and they’re left standing alone amid a carpet of fallen blossoms. 

“Your weatherman didn’t say anything about it raining flowers, did he?” she asks, unable to hide a playful smile. 

Mulder laughs. “No, he didn’t.” 

He suddenly holds a hand up to prevent her from moving. “Just a sec,” he says. “You’ve got a cherry blossom in your hair.” She feels his fingers gently pressing on her head as he works to remove the wayward blossom. 

It’s an intimate gesture on his part, one that would’ve shocked her with its presumptiveness prior to her assignment to the X-Files. But she knows better now. He might be the laughingstock of the Bureau, but if she’s honest with herself, she’d admit that she’s never trusted someone to the degree that she trusts Mulder. And if you pressed her further, she’d acknowledge that trust was gained on their first case together - when she’d gone, trembling, to his motel room, asking him to look at some marks on her lower back which she’d feared were connected to their investigation. She’d felt incredibly vulnerable as she undressed in the dim candlelight in front of a man she’d only known for two days, but Mulder didn’t balk, didn’t even bat an eye at her semi-nakedness. He’d matter-of-factly bent down to examine the marks, gently prodding the area with his fingers. And after he’d confirmed they were just mosquito bites, Dana Scully, who’d earned the nickname “Iron Woman” for her unfailing composure at the Academy, collapsed into him with relief. That seemed to have broken the ice between them; Mulder bared his soul afterward, telling her about his missing sister and what he believed had happened to her. It was a powerful moment, one they’ve never since acknowledged out loud, but whose effects seem to seep into all their interactions. Like this one. 

“Thanks,” she says, brushing her hair in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “We should probably get back to work.” Mulder merely nods, and together, they turn down the path.

They’re halfway to the office when the first drops start to fall. “Told you it would rain,” he says with a self-satisfied grin. He opens his umbrella and holds up in invitation.

“Thanks for planning ahead,” she replies, ducking under the umbrella. It’s big enough to cover them both, but she finds herself walking close beside him, as if it is Mulder, and not the umbrella, that keeps the rain at bay. 

“So tell me more about these alleged UFO photographs you’ve been examining all morning,” she says as they cross the Mall.

“I thought you’d never ask, Scully.”


End file.
